


Ressurection

by biscuitlevitation



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Steve Rogers, Fake Character Death, Gen, Identity Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuitlevitation/pseuds/biscuitlevitation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Captain America survived World War II, and Steve Rogers' supposed death is a closely guarded secret. Coincidentally, SHIELD has a terrifying new agent who never shows his face.</p><p>--</p><p>The thing about waking up is that you always want to go back to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ressurection

The thing about waking up is that you always want to go back to sleep.

\--

Steve melts into reality as slowly as an icecap melts into the sea. He is on a cot in a small chamber reminiscent of a bunker. There's a dingy toilet and a small sink on one side of the room. An odd white rectangle directly overhead is the only source of light.

He's hooked up to an IV, and he quickly yanks it out of his wrist. It looks like saline, but there's really no way of knowing. A small monitor beeps at a rapid pace beside him. He pulls various odds and ends out of his skin until it emits a high, harsh note.

“Shit,” Steve croaks, his throat parched. There's no method of escape except a heavy iron door set into one concrete wall. Steve tries body slamming it anyway, but there's no give. He doesn't even leave a dent.

He can't hear a thing outside the room, although logic tells him that he's probably set off some sort of alarm. Whoever his captors may be, he'll be meeting them shortly.

Steve wishes he had his shield. 

Sure enough, the door unlocks with a loud boom, and then pushes open. It's a good foot thick, Steve notes. These people know what they're doing.

Or perhaps not.

A balding man in a nice suit strolls in, and says, in a flawless American accent, “Hello, Captain. It's a true honor to meet you.”

His expression is so openly starstruck that Steve almost relaxes out of his combat stance. However, the incongruity of the situation keeps him on edge.

“Where am I and who do you work for?” Steve asks sharply.

“You're in a bunker under Utah and I work for the American government,” the man says calmly, no hint of dishonesty in his countenance.

Steve isn't convinced. He tells the man as much.

“We'll explain what happened later,” the man says calmly.

“No, you can explain _now_ ,” Steve says, but he ignores him.

The man touches his ear and says, “You can come in, he's not hostile.” Steve begins to suspect that he's being held captive by a complete loon, but then a woman dressed in combat gear and a man with an eye patch and a long leather coat march in, as if they heard him.

The scary one plants herself in front of the door, as if Steve could somehow escape through a foot of solid metal. The slightly less scary one comes to stand beside the man in the suit.

“Captain Rogers,” he says. “You're probably wondering what's going on.”

“And yet I'm getting the impression that you won't tell me,” Steve says through gritted teeth.

“All in good time,” says the man with the eye patch. “Now, if you'll come with us, we can begin to explain.”

“Where would I be going?” Steve asks warily.

“We'll be taking a tour of the bunker for your benefit,” the scary one states. “You are not to speak. You are to wear this at all times.” She tosses him something. It's a dark, featureless mask. He looks up at the man in the suit, who seems oddly thrilled by it.

“No one can know you're here but us,” he says apologetically. “If you don't like the mask, I could replace it with something more comfortable?”

“Um, no, it's fine. Thank you,” Steve responds politely, and decides to put it on. A tour of the premises can only aid his chances of escape, after all. It's better than a sack over his head, at any rate.

“Don't think of running or I'll taze you,” the scary one says ominously.

“Taze?” he asks, voice muffled. The mask is tolerable, if a little scratchy. He has no problem seeing or breathing, but no one can see him through the dark material, which is unfamiliar to him.

“Electrocute,” the bald one says, smirking.

“You'll have a lot of questions, but we'll answer them as soon as we return,” says the less bald one, shooting the other a reproachful look.

“We'll answer them on a need-to-know basis,” the other corrects.

The man in the suit has a displeased expression, but doesn't argue.

“First question,” Steve says. “Who are you?”

“I'm Agent Coulson, that's Agent Hill, and that is Director Fury,” Coulson says, gesturing to each of them in turn. “Now, if you'll follow me...”

The bunker is well-lit, lined with glowing monitors and with industrious worker bees scurrying to and fro, stopping only to acknowledge Fury, their apparent queen. They don't pay Steve any attention; they're either very well trained or this organization is even more suspect than he first assumed.

It's a lot like every other military bunker Steve's ever been in, but some things still catch him by surprise. He doesn't recognize the lights, or the machinery, or the uniforms. The weapons are the most recognizable by far, but even those have changed.

They stop by what seems to be an archive, and Coulson grabs a couple newsreels, and then they make their way back to the room he woke up in. Steve still has no idea where his shield might be. Or how to escape, for that matter.

The mask comes off. Still flushed and ruffled (the mask quickly became stifling), Steve asks, “What agency did you say this was?”

“We didn't,” says Hill, at the same time that Coulson answers, “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

Fury shoots Coulson a nasty look, but nevertheless says, “SHIELD for short.”

“Never heard of it,” Steve says.

“It was founded shortly after the war,” Fury says.

“ _After_ – what do mean, 'after?!'” Steve demands.

“World War II ended about a year after your plane crash.”

“ _What_?”

“You've been on ice for a very long time, Captain,” Fury says gravely.

Steve can't believe this. “Then why – never mind. How long was I out?”

None of them answer. Coulson seems stricken, Fury solemn. Even Hill has a hint of emotion on her face, but whether it's pity or discomfort is up in the air.

“ _How long_?”

“About seventy years.”

Steve doesn't register the voice. Hell, he barely registers the words. He goes very still, and his voice comes out too soft when he says, “What?”

None of them answer, although Coulson seems like he's searching for words. Steve ignores him, and rounds on Fury.

“You're lying,” he announces. “There's no way I'd survive seventy years in a goddamned iceberg.”

“There's also no way a ninety pound asthmatic could become what you are now,” Hill points out. Steve growls, but doesn't refute her point.

“Hill, get the projector,” Fury orders.

Hill glances from him to Steve, and back again. “Sir – ”

“We'll be fine, ma'am,” Coulson says.

Hill hesitates, but does as Fury says, shooting a warning glare at Steve as she leaves.

She returns in record time, and Coulson readies the first reel.

“Captain,” Fury says, watching the countdown, “You may want to sit down.”

\--

Captain America survived World War II. Steven G. Rogers did not.

Steve watches propaganda reels that feature Monty or Dugan with their faces hidden by the helmet and their mustaches shaven, pretending to be him. He watches reports on Captain America's request to remain out of the public eye, when the war ends. He watches his burial in Arlington Cemetery in 1963, right next to Bucky's empty grave, his Commandos stony-faced and dry-eyed. The casket remains closed – Captain America died in a car crash, after all, and no one wants to see that. He watches thousands of people he doesn't know mourn his passing.

The last film stutters to a stop. All is quiet for a long moment.

“You understand why your identity needs to be kept secret.”

Steve nods woodenly. He may value the truth, but he values the sacrifices that his friends made more.

He was planning to disappear if they won, anyway. He was never comfortable with being a spectacle, and there's only so many ways that people can handle someone coming back from the dead.

There's only so many ways that Steve can handle coming back from the dead.

“So, what are you planning on doing with me? Keep me in this tomb till I die for real?” Steve asks. He's not sure if he'd care if they did.

Fury smiles. “It's against SHIELD policy, and my own personal philosophy, to waste an asset.”

“Trying to recreate the serum is pointless,” Steve warns, “They tried before.”

“That's not what I have in mind,” Fury says, and nods to Coulson, who puts a new slide on the projector. Steve stares at it, comprehension of Fury's agenda slowly dawning in his mind.

“Captain, say hello to your new uniform.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling around in my brain for years, and actually spawned If Red Is For Hell. I'm not very satisfied with it, but I love the idea so much that I can't let it go.


End file.
